


In Summer

by Dragestil



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-04
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-24 15:57:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6158860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragestil/pseuds/Dragestil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In winter, Rythian found himself near-death on Strife's doorstep. Summer's come now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Summer

It was winter when a bedraggled man wrapped with a dark cloak and a thick scarf was carted to a businessman’s tower. It was the darkest of days when the most well-educated man in the town became its doctor. Snow fell silent and heavy to blanket the world beyond his tower’s windows, but his eyes only saw the marred flesh he needed to tend. His fingers - so nimble with machines - felt leaden and clumsy as he knit together flesh and coaxed scarred lips open to accept the only healing draught he knew how to brew. It was the dead of winter when their eyes first met - dazzling blue beneath a worried brow finally catching sight of dulled purple. But they didn’t know each other until the summer came.

“Ryth, you coming?”  


“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?”  


“Syllables are time, time is money, so unless you’re going to start paying me,” Strife said with a casual shrug. He was smiling though, the flashing one the villagers and wanderers and clients never saw. He reached out a hand to the rather discontent man lingering on the ground beneath.  


“Is this entirely necessary?”  


“You want to live here, right? If you want to live here, you have to know the lay of the land. And if we don’t get this done soon, you’ll be complaining that it’s too hot for exploration. So come on!”  


“I liked you better when you only talked business.”  


“That’s what they all say,” the blond replied with a small shrug, hoisting his companion up regardless of any further complaints. “The peak actually isn’t that far. It gives a great view. I can even point out where they found you.”

The conversation died away in a moment. Though it had been a while since a near lifeless body had been brought to Strife’s door, since that body had been well enough to speak and eat, since they had set up proper cohabitation arrangements, they never spoke of what had brought them together. Sometimes it felt too raw. Sometimes it felt too unreal. Always it seemed better left unsaid.

But some things _needed_ said. And it had been months.

Still, the silence followed them up the winding mountain face until they reached the top. Strife led the way to a carved out niche in the rock, perfect for sitting in. It was snug for two, but they had gotten used to tripping over each other as they adjusted to sharing space. Strife took a deep breath. Their shoulders brushed.

“It was over there,” he began, glancing toward the furthest exit of the village. “They really worked to get you into town, and to me.” He nodded at his tower, off in a corner, self-contained within its own complex.  


“Why did they take me to you anyway?”  


“The village never needed a doctor. But home remedies weren’t going to put you back together. And you were a foreigner. So they took you to me - the other foreigner, and the one in the village with the most knowledge. If I could fix all their machines, I guess they thought I could fix a person too.”  


“You did though.”  


The silence crept back up, softer this time, curling into the meagre spaces between them. Rythian took a deep breath. Their knees touched.

“Thank you.”  


“Just doing,” he trailed off. It was easy, automatic to say his job. But none of this had been his chosen path in life, “doing my part.”  


“You’d make a good doctor,” Rythian murmured after another lapse in the comfortable, lazy stillness of mid-afternoon.  


“Really?” Strife shifted, turning his head until he realised he could smell the soap on his companion’s skin. “I didn’t think I had much bedside manner,” he added quickly, a vain attempt to mask his genuine surprise and excitement.  


“You never asked about anything,” Rythian replied, choosing vague words even as he let his scarf fall away from his mouth and the jagged scars surrounding it.  


“Wasn’t anything to ask about,” the blond said easily with a firm nod.  


“You really aren’t going to ask?”  


“Ryth - _Rythian_ , it’s not my business. You can tell me if you want, but it doesn’t seem like something you like to talk about. You don’t see anyone else wearing thick scarves like that in the dead of summer. A good businessman knows that every business - every _person_ has their secrets. You’ll share them when you think I’m well-versed enough in the business.”  


Rythian smiled, and Strife realised it was the first time he had ever seen that precise expression. The eyes that had been so dull seemed now to emit their own light. The corners of marred lips curled up. The whole world for a moment seemed just a touch brighter than he recalled.

“I’ve only got one trade secret for you, Strife.”  


“What’s th-”  


Rythian gave no quarter, no breath for a full response. He let a strong hand catch the back of Strife’s neck as his lips found pale, chapped ones. It was winter when they first met, but in summer they found each other at last.


End file.
